Wifely Duties
by inthecompanyoflove
Summary: Carl makes love to Emma and she reflects on her decisions. Angsty Will/Emma.


Emma was cold.

She looked paler than she expected - standing there, in the mirror, the thin purple nightgown covering her slim frame. Her face was sharp, so white she wondered if she could count the blood vessels beneath her skin, examine the twists and turns of her body, the secrets and ticks her brain felt but didn't understand.

She sighed. Her wedding night. Only, truth be told, it was a day late. Their first night was surreal. The ceremony was brief and more than anything Emma remembered the bright lights and the music from the casino next door. She remembered, sheepishly, her first attempt at a wedding: the VFW, an ice sculpture, a groom she knew enough to pull away from before she bound them together, forever. She remembered Will; his hand on her arm, timid, like a child's, curling around her flesh like a child holding a balloon, knowing it would float away but wanting, desperately, for it stay grounded. Emma shivered.

When they arrived at the hotel, she was a little drunk. Carl was a gentleman, as always, but when they crawled into the bedroom they undressed each other slowly, relishing in the newness of their bodies. When his hands curled her breasts - the first time, somehow still unexpected by the bride - she bit back tears. When his fingers, still so light, so gentle, brushed her hip bones, bare and boney, she asked him to stop and felt tears on her cheeks. He pulled back, ever polite, but confused. She knew what he thought - _she's just nervous, give it time, in a few minutes, she'll give in _- but she knew herself: she couldn't do it. She slept in the fetal position, Carl's arms slung around her. When she awoke, she felt heavy and moist. She hated herself.

And now it's time. Will knew he'd lost her, knew it was over, and in Emma's heart, she knew it was irreparable. They'd gone too far, lost too much, became too detached and lost in themselves to find each other. She urged herself not to cry. She loved him, she knew, but sometimes love isn't enough. Sometimes it's the ring around the finger that makes the decisions and Emma knew it was her time to obey. These footprints on the soul, they don't disappear; they just engrave themselves into her flesh, in the hidden layers even antibacterial wipes can't touch.

She walked into his bedroom. He was already lying down, pretending to read a magazine, but she knew he was waiting for her. His wife. _Wife_. She urged herself not to cry. She loved him, she'd said it, and perhaps in a way, she meant it. He made her laugh, didn't he? Made her smile, took her out places, treated her well. They had more of a relationship than she and Will had ever had, that was an undeniable truth. _Wife_. There was no turning back now.

She gave herself to him. She cried a little, but the pain was all emotional. His weight on top of her, the pressure inside, that wasn't what caused her eyes to water and her body to stiffen. This isn't the life I wanted, she thought, burying her face in his neck. _This isn't the husband I want, not the father of my children, not the person I grow old with. But it's what I have, what I have, what I have_. The choices we make don't fade with time, don't become less real when we realize what we really want; they linger with us like rings around a tree, reminding us of the weight we bear on our backs.

When it was over, he held her. She lied in his arms, stiff, and reassured him she was _okay, really, it would just take her body some getting used to, and it would be okay if they slowed down a little next time? _So sweet, so accomodating, he agreed, stroking his fingers through her soft red hair. She transferred her self hate to him that night, pouring it from her brain through her scalp into his fingertips. It's not his fault, she knew, but the hate was too great, too deeply sewn into her fibers and fingernails to carry it herself. She needed someone to talk to; she needed her best friend. When she remembered she'd lost him, she cried the most.


End file.
